


365 Letters to SH

by believerofjohnlock (cant_deny_the_johnlock_ship)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, johnlock - Fandom, sherlock holmes and john watson - Fandom
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock's Funeral, letter to sherlock, words unspoken
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:03:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2704811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cant_deny_the_johnlock_ship/pseuds/believerofjohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: The story starts during a funeral. During the story, there is a visit by a very common visitor.<br/>Not sure if I'll continue this or just leave it where its at.</p>
            </blockquote>





	365 Letters to SH

 

“Dr. Watson? John?”

John looked up from where he was seated among the five other people at the funeral. His mind had wandered off, thinking about the day he first meet Sherlock. The meeting at Bart’s. Looking at 221b. Going to a crime scene for the first time. Having dinner.

_“You don’t have a girlfriend then?”_

_“Girlfriend? No, not really my area.”_

_“Oh, right.” Pause. “Do you have a boyfriend?”_

_Awkward staring._

_“Which is fine by the way.”_

_“I know its fine.”_

_More awkward staring._

_“So you got a boyfriend?”_

_“No.”_

He looked around, as if barely realizing where he was. Everyone was staring at him with intent. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Would you like to say a few words?”

His eyes fixed on the freshly dug grave which was now being filled once again with shovels of dirt. He swallowed a few times. “Oh, yea, right.” He stood up on shaky legs and went to stand next to the grave. By the time he had arrived, it was halfway filled with earth. He cleared his throat and stared down at it, his heart pounding painfully in his chest.

 _“_ _Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good_ _.”_

He fingered the letter that he had stashed in his right pocket. He had placed it there before leaving the flat, his left hand used to grab his cane and hoist his achy body off his chair. He hadn’t slept in the days leading up to the funeral. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Sherlock’s face, his hair plastered to the side of his face, blood dripping down it. _Red_. Vivid red.

He lowered his gaze to his feet now, focusing on the feeling of the letter. He had folded it multiple times, unconsciously keeping it out of eyesight from himself and others, until it was a tiny rectangle. He flipped it with his fingers, over and over again.

 _“J_ _ohn, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any...”_

_“No. I'm... not asking. No. I'm just saying, it's all fine.”_

John closed his eyes momentarily but instantly regretted it when he saw the flash of red. Vivid red. He jerked backwards and snapped his eyes open.

“John?” he heard someone whisper softly. He wasn’t sure who it was; he had barely heard it.

John swallowed again, feeling the familiar welling in his chest and eyes. “I-I’m sorry,” he chocked, “I can’t do this.”

He stormed off, past the grave, away from the others. He couldn’t look back, wouldn’t look back. His hand had clutched the letter, which was still in his pocket. He stopped after a few minutes of walking, deep into the graveyard he had traveled. He slowly took out the letter, flipping it over in his hands. He had written his speech, the speech he was suppose to give just now, in an attempt to say the words he had always wanted to say to Sherlock but never did.

“These words were meant for you,” John whispered.

So, he had decided. He waited for everyone to leave before walking back to the grave, letter still folded and in his hands. He walked to stand in front of the grave, _his_ grave, before placing the letter gently on top of the freshly laid dirt, right where he thought Sherlock’s chest would be.

“Only for you.”

 _“_ _Good. Thank you.”_


End file.
